


Fear of Falling

by zoemathemata



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemathemata/pseuds/zoemathemata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medieval AU - After Kate Argent killed most of the Hale Royal Werewolf Line in a fire, the remaining Hales: Peter, Laura and Derek are forced to enter into arranged marriages to secure their lands and status. Derek must marry Jackson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear of Falling

***  
Jackson Whittemore dreams of blood.

Crimson colored dreams etched in black-red and brown. He dreams sometimes he’s slogging through a wasteland of blood; weighted down by the thick, viscous liquid. He tried to stand tall, tries to walk straight but his feet sink into the brown, brackish marsh and he stumbles, falling forward, losing his balance and splashing into the viscous liquid. 

He thrashes, he struggles but he cannot get back on his feet. 

Then hands reach up from the liquid. 

Long, slim fingers. As they rise up from the bog, the blood runs off them, leaving them milky white and stained slightly pink. 

He thinks they’re his mother’s hands. 

Not Lady Whittemore’s hands. 

His real mother’s. 

The hands that rise up from the bloody water have callouses at the fingertips. There is strength in the knuckles that speaks of labour and some hardship. 

Lady Whittemore’s hands are soft and smooth. They are hands meant for needlepoint and drinking tea. 

No, these hands that come forth, that wrap around him and start to pull him under in a tight, firm, yet careful embrace - these hands are strong, practiced, fierce. 

They run over his face as if learning his features for the first time, and he supposes they are, for she, his real mother, didn’t live long enough to see him take his first breath. He wonders if these are more than dreams. If perhaps, in the dark hours, in the land of sleep, perhaps the veil between the living and the dead is thin and his mother reaches out for him, if only to touch his face and learn what he looks like. 

He lets himself be pulled under the liquid by her hands - her strong, well-worn hands. Lets himself sink down into the thick, warm red.

He always wakes covered in a cold sweat, no matter what the time of year. He’s never sure if he’s disappointed to be awake, to be alive, or relieved. 

On those nights, when he wakes and still imagines he can feel cold, calloused fingers brushing against his face, he throws back the multiple covers of his bed, pushes away the curtains and dresses quickly in his riding gear. 

He goes to the stables and takes out his horse, a fearsome beast named Kanima, who rides like Death itself is chasing her. He’ll ride across the country side for hours, pushing Kanima faster and faster until he feels like he can leave the dreams behind. 

Until he no longer feels the touch of phantom fingertips against his face.

***

Jackson dismounts from Kanima, pulling her along into the stable and starting unsaddle her. The stable hand, Finstock, with his beady eyes and insane hair calls over to him. 

“Your mother and father want to see you.”

“They’re not my mother and father,” Jackson says under his breath, taking a brush adn giving Kanima’s dark, black hair several long, sweeping brushes. She stomps her feet slightly in pleasure. 

“What?” Finstock yells. 

“Go back to your stable duties,” Jackson orders. 

“They said as soon as you got back.”

Jackson turns. “Are you the lord of this manner? Or the lady?” He doesn’t give Finstock a chance to answer. “The answer in case you’ve forgotten is no. A thousand times no. You don’t order me around. I give the orders around here.” Jackson turns back to Kanima and takes his time brushing her hair. She’s a beauty and he intends to keep her that way. 

Finstock grumbles something under his breath.

“One more sound and I’ll have you mucking out every stall in Beacon Hills Valley,” Jackson adds, not turning around to face Finstock. Jackson wants to sigh in relief when the man stalks out of the stables. 

He spends the better part of the next hour with Kanima - feeding her some apple slices and carrots, ensuring that Finstock has done a good job cleaning out her stable and changing her water. He leaves her tack on the ground, knowing the Finstock will take care of it. 

And if he doesn’t Jackson will have him fired. 

He wanders across the acres of land between the stables and the main house, taking in the surroundings. Whittemore land surrounds him and although he never truly feels like he’s a Whittemore, that doesn't mean that it won’t all be his someday. He’s been reading up on land management, wanting to learn everything he can, wanting to be the best at it. He stays up late into the night, burning lamps, running low on oil, all trying to make sense of the complicated ledgers and bookkeeping notations of the estate. 

What he’s been figuring out lately is troublesome. They’ve been losing money on the horses for years and while, to begin with, they had a substantial amount, it’s been dwindling. When he sees the numbers in Lord Whittemore’s ledgers, sees the trends, he gets a sick, anxious feeling in his chest. He’s ordered books on horse breeding and racing, agriculture and land management and he studies them every night. 

He’s going to double their fortune. Triple it. Perhaps even quadruple it. 

He’ll show everyone that he has just as much right to be here as everyone else. Even if his birth parents weren’t titled. 

In thinking about the estate and the management of it, he’d forgotten Finstock’s message that his parents wanted to see him. If he remembered he would have avoided the main study where his father usually is at this time of day. As it happens he ends up walking by it and hears his father (not his father not his father, _Lord Whittemore’s_ ) voice.

“Jackson,” Lord Whittemore says. “I hear you were out with Kanima. Good ride?”

“Yes, sir. Excellent.”

Lord Whittemore looks slightly pained at Jackson’s use of the word ‘sir’ - something he started as soon as he found out he was adopted and never stopped since. 

“Come in please. Your mother and I have something to discus with you.”

Jackson feels dread coil in his gut as he enters the study and sees Lady Whittemore seated on one of the plush, soft sofas, working her needlepoint. She immediately smiles as she sees him. “There you are, dear. We were beginning to wonder if you and your horse had run off.”

He manages a weak grin and as she hold her arms out and tilts her head for a kiss, he knows he cannot refuse. 

It’s not the cruelty of refusing that bothers him. It’s the social rudeness. He can play the part of the privileged son as well as any of the ‘real’ sons can. 

Better. 

“My lady,” he says, his voice even and steady. He sees the slight tightening of her eyes in the corner at his formal tone. He kisses each of her cheeks, resists her embrace slightly and then pulls away. He sits on the couch, forcing himself to appear relaxed and calm. 

Their expressions are shuttered and nervous. 

“Jackson,” his father begins. “I know you’ve been studying the account books, the ledgers and such.” Lord Whittemore looks grim and Jackson feels a fist clench in his gut. “Well, I’m sure you’ve seen the situation we’re in. I’ve made some bad investments and I was never as good at running the estate as my own father was. I feel that in that respect, you shall outshine me.”

He feels a thrill at the praise and forces it down, buries it deep. 

“At any rate, I cannot turn the estate over to an unmarried man of your age.”

“I’m more than qualified to handle it,” Jackson argues immediately. Lady Whittemore places her hand on his, patting it soothingly. He wants to snatch his own hand away and lean into her warmth - both at the same time. He forces himself to keep still. 

“Your qualifications are not in question,” Lord Whittemore says. 

“Really?” Jackson asks, letting disdain color his tone. “Are you sure society doesn’t have something to say about you handing your title and land over to a commoner?”

“You’re not a commoner,” Lord Whittemore says immediately. “You’re my son.” He sighs tiredly. “Jackson, you were always the only one who cared about your origins.”

“You mean my mother and father - poor common laborers. So poor that my mother was still working though she was eight months pregnant with me.”

He feels Lady Whittemore’s fingers tighten on his. Jackson knows she hates it when he talks about his mother, his real mother. Knows it hurts her. But he can’t help it. Ever since he realized he wasn’t theirs by blood, he’s always felt this… distance. A sense of space between them. As though they were foreigners trying to speak the same language that neither one of them spoke naturally. 

“Let us not fight about this again,” Lady Whittemore pleads. 

Lord Whittemore swallows hard. “As you wish, my lady.” He levels a look at Jackson that clearly indicates the younger man should drop the subject. “I… we have serious matters to discuss with you, regarding the estate.”

Jackson feels the fist of unease and tension tighten in his gut. 

“What is it you wish to speak of, sir?”

“Your marriage.”

***

“You’re breeding me out, just like one of your horses!” Jackson exclaims feeling sick to his stomach. 

“Jackson, please, that’s not the case,” Lord Whittemore begins. 

“Don’t tell me that’s not what you’re doing when it’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re pawning me off on those…. Savages, those werewolves.”

“Son-”

_”I’m not your son!”_ Jackson yells. Lord Whittemore looks like he’s been slapped and Lady Whittemore looks equally stricken. Jackson doesn’t care. They are whoring him out, like cattle, like property. 

“The Hales are in dire need of the additional protection our land affords them and we… well, we are in need of the money.”

Jackson laughs bitterly. “Yes, I’ve seen our books. So that’s to be your solution? Prostitute me out to the Hales to fix your financial mess?”

“Jackson,” Lady Whittemore pleads. “It’s a good match.”

“I don’t want any part of it.”

“Your mother, your real mother,” Lady Whittemore starts, her voice faltering and Jackson turns to look at her with wide eyes. He’s not heard either of the Whittemore’s mention his real parents in years. Not since the day he found out he was adopted. “She had shifter blood.”

“What?” Jackson asks, his own blood going cold. 

“She was not a shifter herself, but she…. Her mother before her was a shifter. Your mother carried the shift within her, though she could not change herself. She passed it to you.”

“How do you know that?” Jackson stutters, trying to remain stock still. 

Lord Whittemore comes to sit next to his wife, pulling her close. “When… when I found you, on the road, the day of the accident, the day your parents died, your eyes…. Just as your mother died, your eyes flashed blue.”

“My eyes are blue,” he says stupidly. 

“No, it was…” says Lord Whittemore. “It was more, something else entirely. I took you with me. You were the only survivor, as you know. I made some discrete inquiries into your parents. It wasn’t well known but your mother’s mother, your birth grandmother, was a shifter. Though not a wolf, from what I could learn. Something else.”

“And you’ve known this all along? All this time?” Jackson accuses. 

“Yes,” Lord Whittemore says. 

Jackson scoffs cruelly. “And now you’re pawning me off on the local shifters. Tired of having a freak for your son?”

“It’s not like that. You know it’s not like that at all,” Lord Whittemore says tiredly. “They need the lands and we need the money and after you’re… married, I can turn the estate over to you. Isn’t that what you want? What you’ve always wanted?”

_I don’t know what I’ve always wanted_ , Jackson thinks, _I just know there’s a hole that is always empty inside. And I don’t know how to fill it_. 

“I guess I should thank you, then,” he sneers, making his wait toward the door and yanking it open. He needs out, he needs to escape. 

“Jackson, please wait.”

“Sorry,” he says, his tone implying he’s anything but. “I’ve got to pack. I’ve got a wedding to prepare for, you know.”

***

It’s a tense affair. Next to Jackson in the Narthex, waiting to walk down the aisle with him is Lady Melissa McCall and Chris Argent. 

No one has said one word. 

A bell rings lowly to indicate they are to enter the cathedral finally and Jackson stands tall. If he’s going to be prostituted out by his adopted family, he’s not going to snivel about it. 

He’s better than that. 

Chris Argent pulls the doors open so hard and fast they crack against the walls of the church. Looking down the aisle, Jackson can see Laura Hale standing in the center in a dark navy gown and matching sash. To her left stands her uncle, Peter, in a dark suit and smaller sash. To her right…

To her right is her brother Derek, Jackson’s soon-to-be-husband. His shoulders twitch slight and he makes a move to adjust his sash. His sister’s claws come out and swipe at his hand and he turns his head and growls at her. 

Jackson does his best not to flinch but knows his eyes widen at the sight. 

Savages. He’s being married off to savages. 

Also in the cathedral are Lord and Lady Whittemore - sitting straight-backed and stiff. Lady Whittemore has turned in her seat and is smiling nervously at Jackson. Jackson walks down the aisle, getting closer to them until he’s close enough to speak. 

“What are you doing here?” Jackson says, voice low and raspy. 

“It’s your wedding, Jackson,” Lady Whittemore protests softly. “Of course we would be here.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Jackson,” Lord Whittemore begins. 

“Just - stop. I don’t care. Fine. Stay here. Watch your business transaction. By the time the hour is over, I won’t be your burden anymore.”

 

Argent steps up to Laura’s right, Lady McCall to Peter’s and then Jackson next to Derek’s. 

“I’m Jackson Whittemore. Your fiance,” Jackson says in clipped, short tones. Derek stares down at him silently. His eyes are strange - a clear green with a burst of brown or hazel at the center. He breathes in deep, nostrils flaring slightly and Jackson leans away from him. He’s slightly shorter than Derek, only by about two inches, but he’s more slender, almost delicately boned in comparison to Derek’s more muscular, wolfish frame. Jackson feels dwarfed but tries not to show it. Derek takes one more long, lasting sniff and then leans back into his own space, no longer towering over Jackson. 

“Are you finished?” Jackson snaps, hoping to cover his nerves. 

“Yes,” Derek says easily. 

The ceremony is short. Blissfully short. Promises till death, sickness and health, et cetera et cetera. 

Until Magistrate Stilinski indicates the couples cab kiss. There’s a tense, awkward and heavy moment. Peter and Melissa are the first to break it with Melissa exclaiming, “Oh for God’s sake,” and leaning over and planting a solid kiss on Peter’s lips, much to her son’s chagrin if his shout of _”Mom!_ was anything to go by. 

Laura and Chris Argent stare at each other, her eyes flashing red for a moment when Chris wrapped a hand around her waist to pull her in. She purses her lips slightly and then darts in for a quick, barely there kiss. They both turn back to the magistrate as if to challenge him to say it wasn’t enough to seal the bargain. 

Then it it Jackson and Derek left. 

Derek turns to Jackson, his strangely colored eyes darting over Jackson’s face. Jackson can’t help the way his spine goes stiff - his entire body on alert. He has the urge to say something snappish or cruel, perhaps make some kind of dog joke but then Derek reaches out and firmly pinches Jackson’s chin between this thumb and finger. He tips Jackson’s head back and before Jackson can flinch out of it, Derek’s lips are pressing against his own, dry and warm and… not altogether unpleasant. 

Which is quite a surprise to Jackson. His best friend since childhood, Danny, favored men but Jackson has always had an eye for the ladies and the idea of marrying a man had been… a little troubling to him. He’s never once looked twice at a man and fully expected to feel… nothing for Derek Hale. Nothing except perhaps contempt at the situation or maybe a shared misery for their lot. 

He certainly never expected to feel a slight tremor in his stomach at the press of Derek Hale’s lips to his own, or to wonder about the rest of their relationship. When Danny heard the news of Jackson’s wedding, he’d tried to cheer his friend up, offering to relate to Jackson some salacious details of his conquests, but Jackson had been in no mood and had refused to hear of it. 

He now wishes he’d taken Danny up on the offer. 

Peter whisks Lady McCall, or rather, Lady Hale, off to some kind of trip along with her son Scott and his fiancee Allison. Chris Argent and Laura Hale stand at the altar staring warily at one another and Derek, Jackson’s _husband_ turns to Jackson stiffly. 

“I have arranged transportation back to Hale Manor,” he says, tipping his head slightly. 

“I’ve brought my horse with me. I know the way,” Jackson replies back cooly. The ride alone would do him so good, give him time to think about his current situation. To think about his reaction to the kiss. 

Derek nods formally. He’s eyes drift over Jackson’s shoulder to where Jackson knows his parents are standing. Derek leans in a bit closer, his voice low. “You are welcome to invite your parents to dinner tonight, if you wish.”

“I do not,” Jackson says evenly, not turning around to look at Lord and Lady Whittemore and not caring one bit what Derek Hale thinks of him for it. 

Derek doesn’t seem particularly perturbed about it. “Very well. I will see you at Hale Manor.” He seems to hesitate for a moment, reaching a hand out like he’s going to offer to shake Jackson’s hand, then pulling it back, then leaning forward slightly like he’ll embrace Jackson and then leaning back again. He finally raises a hand up and drops it heavily on Jackson’s shoulder and squeezes it once. Jackson looks sharply at Derek’s hand and Derek snatches it back and without another word, leaves the cathedral. 

It’s not how Jackson would have ever pictured his wedding day, but it’s a sight better than he feared over the last few days. He wants to sag with relief now that Derek has left but before he gets the chance to take a breath, the Whittemores are upon him. 

“Jackson, my dear, you looked wonderful,” Lady Whittemore says, her voice soft and wavering slightly. Her expression is pinched and tight and Jackson feels a stab of regret looking at the worry in her eyes. 

“It was a very… brisk ceremony,” Lord Whittemore offers. “Good to see there wasn’t any pomp or circumstance.”

They look so brittle and breakable in the light filtering in from the stained glass windows. Now that the wedding is over and his first real meeting with Hale has gone well, Jackson cannot even work up the anger and hurt to be snippish with them. “It was good that it was quick.”

Lady Whittemore smiles at Jackson’s inane statement and Jackson feels something twist in his gut at her face. She’s not his mother, and he’s spent so long telling himself that. But she does love him. He knows it. He just can’t… seem to accept it. 

He wants to. 

He doesn’t know how. 

“I’m off to Hale Manor now,” Jackson says brusquely, straightening his coat. He doesn’t want the Whittemores there tonight, he’s too nervous about what may or may not be upcoming. 

He doesn’t know how he feels about the coming night. 

But he thinks… he thinks maybe he would like them to come visit him. He looks around at the empty church - where the Hale family should be were it not for their deaths. He thinks about Derek, Laura and Peter standing by themselves at the altar, knowing they’d buried the rest of their kin. Jackson doesn’t have much of a family - he never knew his birth parents. He’d been close to the Whittemores before he learned of his adoption. After that he’d felt… detached. Removed. Like he didn’t belong and never could. He said he didn’t want them here for his wedding but looking at the empty, cavernous space yawning out behind them, he imagines what it would be like if they hadn’t arrived. Imagines how he would have felt if he’d walked into the church and looked for them and they hadn’t been there - Lady Whittemore with her fragile fingers and tremulous smile; Lord Whittemore standing strong and silent beside her. Watching Lady Whittemore twist her handkerchief in her hands, watching Lord Whittemore’s hand on her shoulder - knuckles white with tension, he wants to _try_. 

“I shall speak with… Derek,” Jackson says, hesitating over Hale’s name. He’s not sure what he should call him. In Jackson’s head, he is just ‘Hale’ but it seems foolish to say that out loud and he simply cannot say the words ‘my husband’ yet. “I will see if we can make arrangements to have you for dinner. Once I am, or rather, we are more settled.”

Lady Whittemore looks like she might cry and Jackson wants to run away, to escape. He can handle the slight overture he made but he cannot handle anything more. Not right now. He doesn't know if she senses it or not because she only nods, sharing a quick look with her husband. “We’d love that, Jackson.”

Jackson nods tightly and then takes his leave, escaping the suddenly cloying feeling of the cathedral to the crisp, open air outside. 

Kanima is stamping her feet off to the side where she is harnessed and he pets her neck and mane as he swings himself up into her saddle. She trots a few paces restlessly, picking up on his mood - anxious and tense. It’s a relief to both of them when he urges her into a gallop and then as he hits the countryside, a fast run, burning off the energy that thrums through them both.   
Hale Manor is… stark. Dreary. Over half of it is boarded up - blackened and dark with charred wood from the fire five years ago. He wonders why they haven’t torn it down and rebuilt. But then with just Laura, Derek and Peter, there wouldn’t be much point. 

There’s not enough of them to fill what remains, never mind what needs to be fixed. 

A servant lets him into the manor, greeting him with a nod and a brief, “Master Hale,” that has Jackson looking behind him wondering who the man is talking too before he realizes that it’s him - he’s Master Hale now. Derek would still have the title of Lord, Laura would be Lady Alpha, and Peter would be Sir. 

But Jackson is Master Hale. He manages to cover his surprise by fiddling with his coat and armor, taking off his sword and wedding jacket. 

“Lord Hale is upstairs in your quarters,” says the small, petite woman taking his coat and gloves. “I can show you the way, if you like.”

“Just point me in the right direction,” he says, his tone sharper than he means it to be. She bobs her head nervously and points him up the stairs and to the end of the hallway. 

He climbs the stairs with a sense of foreboding and dread. He knew he was getting married today and part of him just wants to go to the bedroom and get the whole mess over with. At the same time, he walks as slow as he can, cursing Derek Hale the whole way. Jackson’s feet are heavy on the carpet as he moves toward the door at the end of the hallway. It’s tall and dark and the air feels heavy with his reluctance. He grips the brass handle firmly. What kind of man just gets married and then retires to his bedchamber? It’s vile, it’s base, it’s…

Completely not what he expected. 

Derek Hale is sitting at a small desk in the corner, reading over some papers. 

“You’re here. Good. Have a seat. I’d like to discuss some estate business with you.”

The command is quick and sharp but not cruel and Jackson finds himself ready to obey, walking over to the other chair that Derek has set up and sitting down. 

They discuss the Hale and Whittemore estates for the entire afternoon, only pausing when Derek rings a bell for dinner around six o’clock. They review the taxes, the tithes, the animal stock, the inventories and other sundries of both their houses. Lord Whittemore had all of their estate books sent over and Jackson does his best to go over them with Derek, finding where they’ll fit in best with the Hale estate. 

Derek is smart and quick and seems to readily understand most of the Whittemore estate. Jackson finds that Derek is also knowledgeable about all of the Hale funds and takes the time to explain the details to Jackson. He doesn’t just assume Jackson is nothing more than a pretty face and actually listens when Jackson has opinions and thoughts. 

It’s… not what Jackson was expecting. 

It’s late in the evening by the time Derek decides to call it a night, the candles around them burning low and yellow. Jackson is nervous, eyes darting over to the bed anxiously and then back to Derek, who seems rather oblivious as he packs up their books. Jackson’s been… well fretting is too soft and flighty of a word for what he’s been feeling but he’s been preoccupied with what will happen next all evening.

“There is one more matter we must settle,” Derek says finally, turning to look at Jackson. In the low light of the candles, it’s impossible to tell what color his eyes are. Jackson swallows hard and doesn’t miss when Derek’s eyes dart down to Jackson’s bobbing Adam’s apple. 

“What is that?” Jackson asks, keeping his voice low in the hopes of not letting on how nervous he is. He has no idea if the werewolf can tell or not. He’s heard stories of course, rumors and half tales of what werewolves can do - scent your fear, smell your blood, hear the pounding of your heart. But he has no idea how much of it, if any, is true or real. 

“The bite,” Derek says.

“What about it?” Jackson questions warily. 

“Do you want it?”

“I didn’t think it would be an option,” he says truthfully. “I thought I’d have to take it.”

Derek frowns. “We’re not savages. I’m not going to force you to take the bite if you don’t want it. Although, it seems you have some sort of shifter in your lineage.” Derek scents the air lightly. “The bite would take for you.”

“But I don’t have to take it,” Jackson clarifies. 

Derek’s lips thin slightly. “No. The bite is a gift but if you don’t want it…”

“I… don’t know,” Jackson answers finally. He doesn’t know what it means for him. What it would mean for his life. Maybe it would be a connection to his dead family. Or maybe it would just mean never having to feel… less. Like he somehow doesn’t measure up. 

He wants to say yes. 

But he’s afraid of what it might mean. 

Derek is already standing up and Jackson feels a queasy sickness in his stomach. 

“Think on it. Let me know what you decide.” Derek leans over and blows out some candles, each one making the room more dark and ominous as it goes out. “I’ve some other things to check on for the estate. I may not return until morning,” he says. 

“You’re not…” Jackson’s eyes dart over to the bed again and then back to Derek who looks implacable and cool. 

“Good night, Jackson,” is all Derek says and then he’s out of the room before Jackson can respond. 

Jackson lets out a long breath and sags in his chair. He’s not sure what to make of Derek Hale. His husband. Jackson had been sitting there all evening screwing his courage to the sticking plate, steeling himself for whatever was coming and now… nothing. 

It feels… false, like a trap or a game. 

He’s still nervous as he makes his way over to the bed. He only takes off his shoes and coat, leaving the rest of his clothes on, but getting under the covers. He feels too… vulnerable to get undressed. The sheets are cool and clean, the bed soft, but he can’t enjoy it. He lies on his back as though he’s in a coffin - arms at his side, body immovable and stiff. 

It takes a long time for him to fall asleep. 

He wakes with a start sometime in the small hours of the morning when he hears the door click shut. He has no idea how long he slept and for a moment he’s disoriented and confused as to where he is. Memory comes back to him with a vicious slap and he sits up like he’s been shot, trying to see in the dark of the room. 

He feels the bed dip off to the side and he flinches, curling away from the movement. 

“Go back to sleep,” Derek growls before he settles himself into bed, pulling the covers up and turning away from Jackson. 

Jackson sits there, stock still for a few more minutes, feeling the pounding of his heart, the racing of his blood, before finally, slowly, reclining back. He listens carefully in the dark and can hear the slow, even sound of Derek breathing. 

It’s not at all the wedding night he imagined. 

***

It’s been ten days since the wedding and Jackson is strangely coming to feel at home at the Hale estate. The days are spent mostly with Derek - traveling around to the families on the Hale and Whittemore land, checking in with their tenants and merging the two businesses along with the McCall finances. It turns out Peter has no interest in any of the estate runnings and Scott was only barely managing to keep the McCall estate from ruin. Peter and Melissa are more than happy to turn it over to Derek and Jackson and Jackson finds most of their time is spoken for before they even have time to wake up. 

Chris Argent is a tense fixture during part of the day when he comes in to see about mixing in the Argent estate into the conglomeration. Unlike Melissa, Argent has no intention of turning over his estate to Jackson and Derek but instead wants to keep most of the Argent business under his own charge, while at the same time ensuring that nothing Derek or Jackson decide interferes with it. 

Jackson tentatively asks Derek one night if Chris Argent has taken the bite. Derek’s jaw grinds and he answers tersely that he hasn’t. When Jackson asks if Chris will, Derek spits out that it’s between Argent and Laura. 

Chris and Laura are….awkward to be around. Jackson likes Laura and she always has a smile and quick word for him - asking after the estate, or how he is settling in. Chris is less forthcoming mostly only nodding Jackson’s way although Jackson except for one tense moment when Chris corners him in the den and wants to know if Laura has bitten Jackson yet. He pinches the nerve in Jackson’s elbow sharply, enough to make Jackson want to fall to his knees but he manages to stay upright and shout that Laura is Argent’s wife. If he wants to know if she’s done something, he should ask her himself. 

“If you’ve not been bitten yet, think twice before you take it. It’s not a gift as they claim. It’s a curse,” Chris says. 

Jackson manages to haul back his arm and punch Chris in the jaw just as Derek and Laura enter the den. Laura’s eyes flash red while Derek’s flash blue. Chris rubs his jaw and eyeballs Jackson appreciatively. 

“Nice hook,” he says to Jackson before glaring at Laura and Derek on his way out of the den. Laura growls at Chris as he passes by and Chris grins back. 

If they’re like that in public, Jackson can’t help but wonder what it’s like in their bedroom. 

With his thoughts on the bedroom, he’s forced to consider the state of his own. Since the wedding night, there’s been nothing but sleep and a few tense words occurring. On the one hand, Jackson is grateful that Derek hasn’t pounced on him like some feral beast. 

On the other, it causes him to wonder if it’s another case of someone not wanting him. He watches Derek during the day as they make their rounds of the lands and estate. Derek sits tall and confident in his horse. He knows the names and families of all those on his lands, but he’s not overly friendly with them. They in turn are polite and courteous - thanking Derek for the safety of Hale lands and offering their congratulations on his marriage. Derek accepts their good-wishes gracefully if somewhat stiffly and introduces Jackson formally as his spouse. 

It’s very… perfunctory. 

The first few times Derek places a hand on Jackson’s shoulder or reaches over and grabs his horses reins, Jackson flinches. He doesn’t mean to but Derek moves quietly, without excess motion or sound, and he always seems to enter Jackson’s space without warning. Jackson supposes it’s the wolf in him and he wonders what it would be like to have that kind of strength and stealth at his own disposal. 

Danny sends a couriered letter asking if they are still on for their regular night of gaming at the local tavern and Jackson responds that he’s still settling in a Hale Estate and they’ll have to put it off. 

He knows he can’t dodge the questions Danny’s sure to ask about his marriage bed and decides to avoid it all together. He’s not sure what he would tell his best friend. 

He likes working with Derek. Derek listens to Jackson’s thoughts and suggestions on business matters. Jackson mostly agrees with Derek’s opinions but the first time he disagrees, he finds Derek open and interested in what Jackson has to say about why he thinks it’s a bad idea. Jackson has to work hard to keep his voice steady and even as he explains. Derek’s stare is calm but shuttered, having no extraneous emotion and Jackson isn’t sure what Derek is thinking. There’s a long, tense silence until Derek says, “I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you,” and Jackson wants to preen at the words. 

The Whittemores come to dinner and it’s the most relaxed Jackson has been around them in years. He’s not sure what it is, or why now, but he no longer feels this burning emptiness when he’s with them. He talks about the estate matters easily over dinner, Derek filling in when necessary with details or additional information. Lord Whittemore says Jackson looks well and Jackson feels a tentative smile curl his lips and he says he feels settled and content at the estate. At the end of the evening, when Lady Whittemore darts forward and pulls him into a hug, instead of standing awkwardly like he used to, he finds himself hugging back and thanking her for coming. She smells of roses and vanilla and he’s struck with a wave of something. He’s not sure what. Longing for childhood perhaps or yearning for something. He remembers being little and having her tuck him in after he had nightmares. He wonders suddenly why he’s been pushing her away all these years when all she ever did was give him a home and make him feel safe. 

He feels Derek’s hand come down on his neck, warm and firm as they stand in the foyer and bid the Whittemores - his parents - good night. 

“Perhaps we could have them over again, next week?” Jackson says quietly.

“Whenever you like,” Derek answers, squeezing Jackson’s neck slightly. He’s always close by, Jackson realizes. Visiting tenants, working in the manor, traveling the countryside. Derek has been close by since the wedding. It makes Jackson feel grounded - secure. 

He hasn’t felt that way in a long time. 

***

It unnerves Jackson two days later when Derek says he is leaving for the evening and won’t be coming home until the morning. 

“Why?” Jackson immediately asks. They’re in the den, going over the account books for the food inventory of the lands. It’s still early in the evening, not quite yet dinner, and Jackson had just been thinking how relaxing and comfortable the whole evening was when Derek stood up and made his announcement. 

“It’s the full moon tonight.”

Jackson can only stare at Derek while his brain processes the news. Derek stands stiffly, formally and then Jackson suddenly blurts, “I want to see you shift.”

He’s not sure who is more surprised - Derek or himself. Derek blinks a few times, face expressionless and then he finally speaks. 

“It can be… surprising if you’ve never seen it before.”

Jackson juts his chin out. “I’ll need to see it if I’m to make a decision. About the bite.” Silence falls between them and Jackson is nervous; scared he’s pushed to far but then Derek finally nods once. 

“Very well. Tonight you shall see us all shift.”

***

It’s cold outside Hale Manor, long past when the sun has set. Derek had told him to be waiting outside, near the stables, at nine o’clock and by a quarter to, Jackson was already outside, wishing he’d brought a stiff belt of brandy or whiskey. 

Just to keep him warm, of course. 

Chris Argent has been in a foul mood all day and Jackson assumes it’s because his wife is about to turn into a wolf along with her brother and uncle. Melissa hadn’t seemed concerned - rather she seemed light-hearted and comfortable, but then again, she’s likely used to it with her son, Scott. 

Jackson feels like he’s a pendulum stuck between their two poles - fear and mistrust versus affection and familiarity. 

He can’t help but feel tonight will be the night that he decides which way he swings. 

He stamps his feet a bit, hoping to keep them warm. It’s a cold night, the crisp, sharp tang of the coming winter biting through the air. He hears footsteps behind him and he turns, seeing Derek, Laura and Peter coming down the long pathway from the house. Laura nods once at him, smiling quietly. Peter inclines his head once as well. Derek pauses beside him as Laura and Peter make their way into the barn. 

“You may change your mind, if you wish.”

“I haven’t,” declares Jackson, keeping his voice firm and resolute. No matter how much he may be trembling on the inside. 

Derek nods and leads Jackson into the barn. He leads them off to the side, where a few stalls have been empty since Jackson moved in. Jackson looks around quickly for Laura and Peter and is surprised when he sees Laura’s dress already on a hook in one of the stalls. He can’t speak as Derek leads him to the far back corner and then turns and faces him. 

Derek doesn’t say anything and Jackson thinks that he’s about to try to convince Jackson to leave when suddenly, apropos of nothing, Derek starts disrobing. Jackson tries to appear nonchalant but even he can feel the way his eyes widen. Derek is economical and efficient disrobing and Jackson wants to look away, wants to turn around, wants to do something other than just gape like a truant school boy. He’s seen naked men before - in stables, gaming halls, sporting arenas, but Derek Hale is his husband and this is certainly not just another sporting event. Jackson can’t even swallow as he takes in the long, cut lines of Derek’s body. He might be gawking a bit but it’s nothing compared to the surprised, gut-punched sound he makes when Derek starts to change. 

His limbs contort and bend, shifting and shaping themselves with cracking and snapping of bone, ligaments and cartilage and Jackson winces at the sound and flinches slightly. It’s over in seconds and then the human form of Derek is gone and before him is…

Simply a wolf. 

Or not simply, Jackson supposes. The wolf stares up at him with Derek’s calm assessing gaze, sits back on its haunches and regards Jackson. Jackson swallows hard and reaches a hand out, unsurprised to find his own limb shaking. He touches the wolf, Derek, on the snout lightly. It’s warm and fuzzy, soft and smooth. He trails his fingers up and over Derek’s snout to his head, and then curls his hand around one unbelievable soft ear. 

A howl from behind him makes him flinch again and Jackson hears padded footfalls racing out of the barn. Derek looks at Jackson and then at the door behind him, his entire animal body taut with energy. 

It’s Jackson’s turn to nod once, in permission or acquiescence, he’s not sure. 

Derek bolts off into the night. 

***

Jackson asks for the bite the next day. 

Derek looks at him a long time before standing up and calling for his sister. Jackson’s not sure if it’s wishful thinking or not but Laura seems happy when she enters their bedchambers. She sits on the edge of the bed and explains what she will do, where she will bite and how the change will occur. She tells him it will hurt and he will be confused, he will have a fever, he will hallucinate, he will get chills. 

But she is certain it will take. 

Jackson can’t stop his eyes from darting over at Derek nervously and he feels calmer when Derek says he will stay with Jackson while the bite takes hold. Jackson tells her he understands. He is certain. He wants the bite. 

Derek’s hand on Jackson’s shoulder is warm and solid as Laura’s canines elongate and sharpen. Jackson reaches out and manages to grab ahold of Derek’s hand just before Laura’s teeth sink into his shoulder, burying deep into the flesh. 

Like always, he dreams of blood. Blood running down Laura’s lips, blood on Derek’s hands, on his face, blood on his own hands, pulsing out of his body. He feels as though his blood has been set on fire. He dreams of wading through a deep, thick pool of blood, sinking deeper down, further and further until he fears he will disappear. The only thing that tethers him to this world is a strong grip around his shoulders and encircling his chest, keeping him from slipping under the red liquid and drowning. There’s a growling sound in his ears and instead of being fearsome and spine-curling, it means safety and security. He tries to hold on to the low, almost purring sound - following it as he wades deeper and deeper. 

When he finally opens his eyes and really sees for the first time in twenty-four hours, everything is sharper, crisper. He can hear the cooks downstairs discussing the menu. He can hear the scullery-maids gossiping in the back rooms. He can hear the horses out in the barns and their grooms, brushing them down. He can hear winter birds chirping in the trees outside, hear the rustle of the leaves in the wind.

He can hear Derek’s heart beat. 

Derek is a hot line against Jackson’s back, pressed up close to him. Jackson can hear him breathing in and out, can hear the steady slow beat of his heart. Jackson inhales and can smell the scent of the wind on Derek, the musk of his body, the faint traces of Laura in the room. 

The only thing he doesn’t feel is the yawning emptiness that was always inside him. 

He just feels… complete. 

“You always smelled of fear, before.”

Derek’s voice is a low rumble in Jackson’s ear. Jackson doesn’t move from where he is, lying on his side on the bed with Derek spooned up behind him. 

“Even that fist day, in the church, you didn’t act afraid but you reeked of fear. And that night, it was all over you.”

“I… didn’t know what I wanted,” Jackson admits, surprised at how easy the words are. 

“When you asked for the bite, it was the first time I didn’t smell fear on you. Nervousness, maybe. But not fear.”

Jackson pauses, thinks about Derek, about living at the Hale Manor, about seeing Derek shift into a wolf. How he thought that maybe finally, he found someplace he belonged. 

“I wasn’t afraid,” Jackson says quietly. “I think for the first time, I wasn’t afraid.” He’s speaking of his entire life and he’s not sure if he can articulate it, or if Derek knows. Or if it even matters now. He feels Derek’s lips on the back of his neck, hot and possessive and thinks he’s finally come home. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the TW_Holidays exchange for darth_begbie. I tried to use the following from the prompts: Medieval AU, slow build up and pining. It’s hard to get a good ‘pine’ or slow build in a short story. My first time writing Jackson! And Medieval and Reagent get mixed up in my head a lot.


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